‘Did he make a law about it?’
‘Yes, lord, he did. And he made another that says you mustn’t lust after your neighbour’s ox.’
‘There,’ I said to Erik. ‘You can’t even wish for an ox if you’re a Christian.’
‘Strange,’ he said thoughtfully. He was looking at Guthrum’s envoys who had so narrowly escaped losing their heads. ‘You don’t mind escorting them?’
‘No.’
‘It might be no bad thing if they live,’ he said quietly. ‘Why give Guthrum cause to attack us?’
‘He won’t,’ I said confidently, ‘whether you kill them or not.’
‘Probably not,’ he agreed, ‘but we agreed that if the priest won, then they would all live, so let them live. And you’re sure you don’t mind escorting them away?’
‘Of course not,’ I said.
‘Then come back here,’ Erik said warmly, ‘we need you.’
‘You need Ragnar,’ I corrected him.
‘True,’ he confessed, and smiled. ‘See those men safe out of the city, then come back.’
‘I have a wife and children to fetch first,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ he said, and smiled again. ‘You are fortunate in that. But you will come back?’
‘Bjorn the Dead told me so,’ I said, carefully evading his question.
‘So he did,’ Erik said. He embraced me. ‘We need you,’ he said, ‘and together we can take this whole island.’
We left, riding through the city streets, out through the western gate that was known as Ludd’s Gate, and then down to the ford across the River Fleot. Sihtric was bent over his saddle’s pommel, still suffering from the kicking he had received from Sigefrid. I looked behind as we left the ford, half expecting that Sigefrid would have countermanded his brother’s decision and sent men to pursue us, but none appeared. We spurred through the marshy ground and then up the slight slope to the Saxon town.
I did not stay on the road that led westwards, but instead turned onto the wharves where a dozen ships were moored. These were river boats that traded with Wessex and Mercia. Few shipmasters cared to shoot the dangerous gap in the ruined bridge that the Romans had thrown across the Temes, so these ships were smaller, manned by oarsmen, and all of them had paid dues to me at Coccham. They all knew me, because they did business with me on every trip.
We forced our way through heaps of merchandise, past open fires and through the gangs of slaves loading or unloading cargoes. Only one ship was ready to make a voyage. She was named the Swan and I knew her well. She had a Saxon crew, and she was nearly ready to leave because her oarsmen were standing on the wharf while the shipmaster, a man called Osric, finished his business with the merchant whose goods he was carrying. ‘You’re taking us too,’ I told him.
We left most of the horses behind, though I insisted that room was found for Smoca, and Finan wanted to keep his stallion too, and so the beasts were coaxed into the Swan’s open hold where they stood shivering. Then we left. The tide was flooding, the oars bit, and we glided upriver. ‘Where am I taking you, lord?’ Osric the shipmaster asked me.
‘To Coccham,’ I said.
And back to Alfred.
The river was wide, grey and sullen. It flowed strongly, fed by the winter rains against which the incoming tide gave less and less resistance. The Swan made hard work of the early rowing as the ten oarsmen fought the current and I caught Finan’s eye and we exchanged smiles. He was remembering, as I was, our long months at the oars of a slave-rowed trading ship. We had suffered, bled and shivered, and we had thought that only death could release us from that fate, but now other men rowed us as the Swan fought around the great swooping bends of the Temes that were softened by the wide floods that stretched into the water meadows.
I sat on the small platform built in the ship’s blunt bow and Father Pyrlig joined me there. I had given him my cloak, which he clutched tight around him. He had found some bread and cheese, which did not surprise me because I have never known a man eat so much. ‘How did you know I’d beat Sigefrid?’ he asked.
‘I didn’t know,’ I said. ‘In fact I was hoping he’d beat you, and that there would be one less Christian.’
He smiled at that, then gazed at the waterfowl on the flood water. ‘I knew I had two or three strokes only,’ he said, ‘before he realised I knew what I was doing. Then he’d have cut the flesh off my bones.’
‘He would,’ I agreed, ‘but I reckoned you had those three strokes and they’d prove enough.’
‘Thank you for that, Uhtred,’ he said, then broke off a lump of cheese and gave it to me. ‘How are you these days?’
‘Bored.’
‘I hear you’re married?’
‘I’m not bored with her,’ I said hurriedly.
‘Good for you! Me, now? I can’t stand my wife. Dear God, what a tongue that viper has. She can split a sheet of slate just by talking to it! You’ve not met my wife, have you?’
‘No.’
‘Sometimes I curse God for taking Adam’s rib and making Eve, but then I see some young girl and my heart leaps and I think God knew what he was doing after all.’
I smiled. ‘I thought Christian priests were supposed to set an example?’
‘And what’s wrong with admiring God’s creations?’ Pyrlig asked indignantly. ‘Especially a young one with plump round tits and a fine fat rump? It would be sinful of me to ignore such signs of his grace.’ He grinned, then looked anxious. ‘I heard you were taken captive?’
‘I was.’
‘I prayed for you.’
‘Thank you for that,’ I said, and meant it. I did not worship the Christian god, but like Erik I feared he had some power, so prayers to him were not wasted.
‘But I hear it was Alfred who had you released?’ Pyrlig asked.
I paused. As ever I hated to acknowledge any debt to Alfred, but I grudgingly conceded that he had helped. ‘He sent the men who freed me,’ I said, ‘yes.’
‘And you reward him, Lord Uhtred, by naming yourself King of Mercia?’
‘You heard that?’ I asked cautiously.
‘Of course I heard it! That great oaf of a Norseman bawled it just five paces from my ear. Are you King of Mercia?’
‘No,’ I said, resisting the urge to add ‘not yet’.
‘I didn’t think you were,’ Pyrlig said mildly. ‘I’d have heard about that, wouldn’t I? And I don’t think you will be, not unless Alfred wants it.’
‘Alfred can piss down his own throat for all I care,’ I said.
‘And of course I should tell him what I heard,’ Pyrlig said.
‘Yes,’ I said bitterly, ‘you should.’
I leaned against the curving timber of the ship’s stem and stared at the backs of the oarsmen. I was also watching for any sign of a pursuing ship, half expecting to see some fast warship swept along by banks of long oars, but no mast showed above the river’s long bends, which suggested Erik had successfully persuaded his brother against taking an instant revenge for the humiliation Pyrlig had given him. ‘So whose idea is it,’ Pyrlig asked, ‘that you should be king in Mercia?’ He waited for me to answer, but I said nothing. ‘It’s Sigefrid, isn’t it?’ he demanded. ‘Sigefrid’s crazy idea.’
‘Crazy?’